They were absolutely going to be late.

The two had spent the better part of the night talking and laughing and drawing. The sun had already risen by the time Percy awoke, and from what Aryn had told him last night, the hunting party was supposed to set out pretty early. So he had jostled the prince awake, and they both had dressed in a panic. Not panicked enough for Aryn to forget his new cloak clasp though. As they rushed through the streets of the middle circle and past the inner circle gates, the silver caught the daylight, shining magnificently.

He didn’t know what he had expected the castle to look like, but for some reason he was still struck with awe. Several stories tall and made of beautiful light grey stone, it was like a beacon in the hazy cold morning sky. The streets were oddly busy for the current temperatures, but he suspected it was due to the upcoming royal wedding everybody couldn’t shut up about. Finally they reached the castle gates and hurried into the front courtyard, which was bustling with all manner of guards, servants, and noblemen. Horses and carts moved to and fro, some more lazily than others. It was overwhelming.

A rather large crowd was gathered closest to the castle entrance: all men, most on horses, sporting all manner of swords and crossbows. Thankfully Aryn hadn’t lied, somewhat. All of them either had on thick coats or fur-lined cloaks; not a ridiculously fanciful outfit in sight. He had thrown on his only nice coat, a rich dark grey lined with fur that his father had gotten him as a Christmas present last year when business had been particularly good. It was the only present he had gotten.

He quickly observed the other men present, attempting to discern their societal stations. Two of them were easy, as they both wore crowns, albeit of different shape and size. The younger one with the dark brown hair and eyes had to be Prince Philip. The other was unmistakable, regardless of having laid eyes on him before or not. A mountain of a man, not yet withered by age, with dark brown hair streaked with grey. His eyes were also brown, like Philip’s, but there was a coldness to them, dare he say a certain ruthlessness. The back of his neck grew hot as he remembered how Aryn had reacted last night.

The younger prince took the lead in escorting them over towards the hunting party, mindful to keep a normal distance between the two. They were friends today, he had to remind himself. Male friends at that. It was time to put his physical aesthetics to good use.

“Ah, Aryn!”

Prince Philip called out cheerily, opening a hand towards his younger brother. Everyone else turned in greeting, but their faces quickly shifted as they laid eyes upon the stranger he had brought into their midst. He pulled his shoulders back and held his chin a bit taller in response.

“We were wondering if you’d be coming,” he continued, his breath frosting in the air.

“My apologies, Brother. I had to stop for breakfast; can’t so much as hunt on an empty stomach out in this cold,” he lied coolly.

“Ah, it’s quite all right. Most of my friends had only arrived a few moments ago as well, many hungover from the festivities last night, I might add,” he quipped as he glanced back at the hunting party.

A group of younger gentlemen all began to laugh and chatter, nodding and pointing and elbowing one another. All but one of them, which was staring at him a bit more intently than the others had. His amber eyes stuck out starkly against the snow, and Percy felt his muscles tighten up as an unreadable smirk tugged at the edge of the man’s mouth.

“Aryn.”

The voice was the embodiment of command, of control. The rest of the hunting party immediately quieted as the King spoke.

“Go have the stableboys fetch your horse, and one for your… friend here as well. Do it quickly; we were supposed to set out nearly half-hour ago.”

The young prince simply bowed his head and turned on his heel towards the stables, motioning for Percy to stay. His heart leapt into his throat as he was now left alone with a pack of nobles to ogle at him. He cleared his throat and bowed deeply, a tight smile on his face.

“Your Grace, Your Highness. It is an honor to be joining you today to celebrate the upcoming… nuptials.”

A handsome smile blossomed on Philip’s face. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?..”

“Percy, Your Highness. Percy Lancaster.”

The prince furrowed his brow. “Curious, I’ve never heard of your family name before. Where do you hail from?”

“Oh, here, Your Highness. My father owns and runs the best smithy in the city,” he said proudly, folding his hands behind his back. “We’ve been the main supplier of weapons to your fine Crownsguard for years now. I train under my father.”

The other men began to murmur and chortle amongst themselves, their faces shifting towards confused amusement. He felt his face begin to flush and that same heat return to the nape of his neck.

“So, you’re lowborn then?”

He smiled tersely at the prince, blinking. “Correct, Your Highness.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever met a more well-mannered commoner in my life,” he mused as he shifted in his saddle, stirring another bout of chuckling from the other noblemen.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I find it hard to believe you’ve met many commoners at all.”

The party grew quiet and stirred slightly with discomfort. He did not remove his eyes from the elder prince’s, emerald irises brimming with challenge beneath a polite mask. Rich brown ones met his with intrigue, albeit mixed with the insufferable pompousness of royalty.

Hooves clicking on cobblestone suddenly dispersed the tension building in the cold winter air as Aryn returned, accompanied by a stableboy who held the reins of two horses. One was a beautiful white Arabian, dapplings of grey flecking its legs. The other was a larger horse, thoroughbred most likely, of a deep brown almost black coloration. He could guess which was whose.

“Here you are, sir,” the stableboy said meekly, handing him the reins to the strong thoroughbred.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile.

The hunting party sniggered beneath their breaths, and color rose on his face as Aryn took the reins from the boy without a word. He forgot that entitlement was custom in this world.

“We must get you a weapon, Percy,” Philip continued. “Surely you plan on participating.”

“I’m not very experienced with hunting, Your Highness–”

“Nonsense,” he butted in, hopping off his horse to stride over to a large wooden table strewn with all manner of implements. “A strong man like yourself would be a natural, I’m sure. All that time slaving over a forge, surely you could string a crossbow.”

He knew it was meant as an insult, but he smiled anyway. “But of course, Your Highness. Whichever you think would be best, I’ll take it.”

Philip snatched a heavy crossbow from the table, equipped with a backstrap, and walked it over to him. “See how that suits you.”

He took it in his hands, surprised at the weight of it. Nonetheless, it was still manageable. After testing the weight, he slung it around his back and nodded towards the prince.

“It’s hefty I know,” he started as he climbed gracefully back on his horse. “But hefty is what you need against boars. So! Shall we be off?”

Aryn swung himself onto his horse without a word, waiting for Percy to do the same. So he did, although much less gracefully. He didn’t have much experience riding, but he had been taught once. Situating himself on the beautiful thoroughbred he had no right to be riding, he could feel the King’s eyes burning into him.

God, and this is how Aryn feels every goddamn day…

The hunting party set out, the King and Prince Philip in the lead as he and Aryn stayed in the back. Thankfully there was no snow falling today, or else this hunt might have proved to be even more miserable than already promised. Seeing as they weren’t into the woods yet, the party ahead was loud and boisterous, continuing to drink even though they clearly had gotten their fill last night. He supposed it was a good thing for them all to be distracted with each other and not himself.

“I’m sorry about my brother. He means well, but he can sure be quite the idiot,” Aryn murmured from beside him.

He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as they clopped along. “He’s a prince. It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting.”

“I’m a prince,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, you’re quite a different prince than he is, now aren’t you?” he retorted, raising his eyebrows at the ashen-haired boy.

“Aryn!” a voice called from up at the front of the party.

They both glanced up to see Philip trotting towards them. “Come join me for a moment, would you? I’d like to spend some time with my brother.”

He could read the forced smile that made its way to the younger prince’s face. But he could also tell that a small part of it was genuine. It was easy to believe that Aryn didn’t completely despise his brother. He sensed there was a part of the crown prince that did try.

“Of course, Philip,” he replied dutifully.

Blue eyes met his apologetically before the young prince trotted off with the elder, leaving him to his own devices. They had begun to reach the border of the large forest situated just outside the city, the landscape now becoming dotted with tall, thick trees and bushes. It was rather peaceful out here. He remembered coming here as a boy and playing in the hot spring that graced a small clearing within its tangle of branches. Perhaps he would show Aryn once the world grew warmer.

“Enjoying the hunt so far?”

He was drawn from his thoughts as the man with amber eyes he spotted earlier sidled up next to him on his own horse. It was hard to hide the skeptical furrow beginning to scrunch his brow.

“I’m not too sure this qualifies as a hunt yet, seeing as there has been no hunting,” he replied smartly, attempting to joke with the nobleman.

The man chuckled softly. “You’re funny. I can see why Aryn fancies you.”

His heart sank to his stomach.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he stated dismissively. “The Prince is my friend. He’s been working with my father to create more trade between our business and the Crown.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that. And staying the night at your home, is that also business?”

“You mean to tell me you would send Prince Aryn Stewart out into the middle circle at night to find his way back home, alone? He shared dinner with my family and decided to stay.”

“Last I heard your father was out of town–”

He whirled towards the man in his saddle. “I’m sorry, is there something you’re trying to get at, Lord?..”

“Oliver Farrington. And no Lord; that title still resides with my father,” he said coolly.

“My apologies, just Oliver Farrington. Are you insinuating that the prince is a deviant?” he bristled defensively.

“You said it, not me.”

“Well maybe I could tell the King what you think of his son. I’m sure a man as forgiving as King Aleksander wouldn’t silence you forever for spreading such rumours.”

Suddenly, the man began to laugh. He laughed so heartily that he had to place a hand on his chest to catch his breath. It infuriated him.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “Oh man. Percy, right? You really do live up to expectations.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?” he pressed impatiently.

“Keep your voice down, it’s all right. Look, I know about you and Aryn,” he explained quietly. “I knew before you even did.”

Suddenly it all clicked.

“I apologize,” he murmured lowly, tanned face turning red.

“Oh, no apology necessary. I should be apologizing. I simply wanted to test you.”

“Well? Did I pass?” he questioned playfully.

“Very much so,” Oliver replied with a smirk. “And don’t worry. As devastatingly beautiful as the prince is, you’ll find no competition from me.”

“That’s a relief. God knows a poor little blacksmith boy like me wouldn’t stand a chance against a ravishing nobleman such as yourself,” he teased.

They both laughed.

He caught Aryn glancing back in their direction, and took note of his fair cheeks flushing pink. He subtly nodded in reassurance.

“I have been looking forward to meeting you,” Oliver continued, their horses strolling along the trampled forest path as more distance grew between them and the party. “From what Aryn has told me, you’re quite the impressive man.”

“And from what Aryn has briefly told me about you, I should thank you,” he pointed out. “Although it does feel strange, thanking a man who had previous… relations with my partner.”

Oliver chuckled softly. “Well, with the way we are, nothing is ever not strange. I’m just glad I happened upon the prince. Otherwise who knows? You two might have been doomed to stare at each other longingly for eternity,” he jested.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

It was Percy’s turn to laugh.

“So, Oliver. Will you be staying in the city long?”

“I believe so. My father has hinted that he wishes for me to stay with my sister here at court. She is so innocent, you see. Not fit for the dirty underbelly of politics. He expects me to protect her, I suppose.”

“Would you like to remain here at court?” he pressed.

Amber met emerald as the two locked gazes. “At first I didn’t, no. But now I think I might.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, a certain silent understanding passing over the two of them.

“Well, I’m sure Aryn would love it if you stayed. Lord knows he needs more friends. It pains me sometimes just how lonely he is,” he stated softly, staring towards the prince.

“Me as well. And his father, the King… he hasn’t been able to secure the throne and continue to wage a successful territory war for this long without cause. Aryn’s heart is far too gentle for that man.”

“He angers me,” Percy declared quietly, unable to hide the rage in his voice.

Oliver glanced back over at him pensively. “Understandably so.”

“Sometimes Aryn cowers from me. It constantly seems as if he’s stepping on eggshells, even with me, when I’ve given him zero reason to. The only explanation I can find for that is him.”

“I cannot claim to know exactly what goes on between the King and his younger son, but I do know that Aryn fears him. Genuinely fears him. As do many others,” the nobleman explained.

“What kind of a king rules with fear?” he mused bitterly.

Amber eyes looked at him with intensity. “Unfortunately, a rather successful one.”

“Do you think the King harms him?”

“I think you can answer that question quite readily yourself, Mr. Lancaster,” Oliver muttered darkly.

“I don’t expect that Prince Philip does much to stop it,” he added, green eyes boring into the back of the man’s crowned skull.

The nobleman sighed. “As if he could do much in the first place. His father clearly favors him, so why give him cause not to? As handsomely dumb as His Highness seems, he’s smart enough not to endanger his right to the throne.”

“But the situation should not exist in the first place,” Percy butted in frustratedly. “I simply cannot understand why a father would hate his son if he has done nothing egregiously wrong.”

“That is because you live in a different world than them, Percy,” Oliver said softly. “You exist in a realm where good character and good morals raise a man up in society. They exist in a realm that values three things: power, wealth, and perfection. Anything that stands against those things is seen as a slight, a weakness. And weakness destroys legacies.”

“You exist in that realm, too,” he pointed out, looking over at the nobleman.

Oliver scoffed. “Only due to the random circumstance of birth. My values align with the world you live in, I assure you. My personal life has been closely intertwined with noblemen and commoners alike, and I can tell you without a doubt that I much prefer the company of the latter.”

“And here I thought all you nobles were alike,” he jested.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t love Aryn as you do.”

The blacksmith’s face flushed with heat as he quickly turned his gaze back towards the party riding ahead of them. A crisp winter breeze rattled the bare branches as dead leaves stirred on the forest floor, flinging a few loose curls across his face.

“Is it that obvious?” he murmured beneath the wind.

A gentle smile grew over the nobleman’s face. “Glaringly so, at least to me. And the way that boy talks about you,” he chuckled. “I would dare say the feeling is very mutual.”

“He’s just so… sensitive. I don’t want to scare him or make him feel as if he must proclaim he feels similarly. He’s been through enough, with the late Queen, God rest her soul, and the rest of his issues with his family. He thinks so lowly of himself. I don’t wish to be another source through which he comes to doubt himself further,” he stated softly through the quiet rustling of brown leaves.

“Remember the last time one of you hesitated to make your feelings clear?” Oliver prompted with raised eyebrows.

He sighed defeatedly, conflicted. “I will, eventually. I just feel it’s too soon. I think he likes that things have been slow with us. It’s given him the space to understand himself, to understand us. And truth be told, I’ve liked it too.”

“Were you ever with any girls before you realized how you are?” the nobleman questioned.

Percy gave him a hesitant look and pressed his lips together, shrugging. “I mean, technically. I was a teenage boy. I’ve never properly been with someone, but I did… mess around. It didn’t excite me very much, but I’d always had older men tell me it wasn’t all that it was chalked up to be, so I thought that was normal. And the girls always seemed quite pleased…”

Oliver snorted and covered his mouth, which earned a harsh look from the blacksmith.

“I’m not lying,” he defended, unable to help laughing a bit as well.

“Oh no, I didn’t think you were. I’m just not surprised, is all. Aryn always tends to get a bit flustered talking about you. I figured you maybe had some experience under your belt, no pun intended,” he said slyly.

Percy rolled his eyes and playfully shoved the nobleman in his saddle. For a split moment, dread settled in his broad chest. He had shoved a nobleman… but Oliver didn’t hesitate to reach over and shove him back, a boyish grin on his face.

“I take it you two are getting along.”

He looked forward to spot Aryn trotting in their direction, his ashen hair tossed by the freezing wind. His nose and ears were flushed from the cold, and a canteen wrapped in fine leather now hung from his hip. At this point they were deep into the woods, the path turning from a proper dirt road into more of a makeshift trail, disappearing and reappearing at times.

“I was just telling Oliver about how easily I could kick his pampered arse in a fight,” he joked.

“As if,” the nobleman shot back playfully.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Percy. Oliver actually does fight,” the prince elaborated with a smirk, turning his horse around to ride on his left.

He furrowed his brow skeptically, glancing back over at the nobleman. The chap sure was full of surprises.

“Really? How so?” he questioned curiously.

“Why the good old-fashioned way, with fists. And an occasional kick to spice things up,” Oliver stated smugly.

“You’re quite the interesting man, Oliver Farrington,” he concluded with a raised eyebrow.

Aryn handed him the canteen. “Here. I told you we were getting drunk.”

He removed the cap and took a cautious swig. It tasted like really good wine, but if the wine was on fire. It burned the whole way down his throat and into his stomach. He could hear Oliver snicker beside him.

“Don’t poison the poor man, Aryn,” the nobleman begged playfully before holding his hand out, silently asking for the container.

He handed it to him more than willingly as he turned to Aryn. “What is that?” he asked, his voice raspy from the bite of the alcohol.

“Fortified wine,” the prince explained with a devious smirk. “Philip had one of his friends bring some. It has brandy in it. Very good, very strong brandy.”

He then noticed that Aryn’s cheeks were flushed more than usual, excessively so if it were only from the cold, and chuckled. “I see you got a head start.”

“I wasn’t going to say no when Philip offered it to me. Besides, the few times we’ve genuinely enjoyed each other’s company were when we were… well, rather incapacitated. Strong wine tends to help take that stick out of his ass,” he rambled on.

“Maybe I’ll have better luck talking to him about some things for the wedding now then,” Oliver pointed out, handing the canteen back to Percy. “I’ll let you two enjoy yourselves. See you in a bit.”

He clicked his horse on, and the soft clop of hooves on dirt quickened as the nobleman picked up pace to reunite with the rest of the hunting party. Once he was out of earshot, he turned to look at Aryn. His ashen hair had become slightly windswept, and his poor nose was turning red from the cold.

It was a bit amusing how unadapted the prince was to adverse weather, not having to labor outside or even go without a fire in the house. Of course he knew how lucky he was as well, even for a commoner. He could only remember a handful of times his family had to go without logs in the fireplace, and that was when he was very young. Ever since he and Jory were old enough to help in the forge, their family had thankfully remained comfortably provided for due to the extra help and surge of business from the war that had started.

He watched as Aryn took in the frozen forest, quiet wonder on his fair face in spite of the chill. It was easy to appreciate how beautifully still the world was when you didn’t have to face the terrifying reality of winter. As the prince readjusted his cloak, he couldn’t help but think about all the people he’d seen frozen to death in alleyways.

“You all right?”

He blinked and glanced up to meet blue eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just interesting seeing the differences between your world and mine.”

The prince furrowed his brow with a tilt of his head. “What have you noticed?”

“I love that you’re finding beauty in this weather, but that’s a luxury the vast majority of people can’t afford, you know?” he pointed out gently.

He saw Aryn’s face drop as the prince began anxiously petting the neck of his horse.

“I didn’t think about that…”

“It’s okay, I don’t want you to feel guilty. It was just something I found myself thinking about,” he explained hurriedly, a sense of guilt creeping into his own chest.

“But you’re right. And it isn’t fair. Some of the people on my father’s council have been talking about things like that, and I know that the war has created more disparity among the common people. Take for instance, your family. I’m sure the war has provided you with more income, more safety and stability. But for others, resources have been drained. Like the farmers. So much of their crop is being shipped to the borders, which makes produce more expensive here and harder to come by. So then only people like your family can put food on the table every night. I know many taverns have gone out of business because people don’t have the luxury of being able to afford going out, or even taking a night off. It’s just… not fair.”

He was taken aback for a moment, watching the prince as he got more and more animated. His heart stirred.

“I didn’t realize you were so aware of what’s going on–”

“Of course I’m aware; it’s my duty. I am a prince, and a prince is supposed to help care for his people. But the minute I try to get closer so I can truly understand what the common folk are going through or how they feel, I’m told I am being childish, trying to be rebellious, shaming our family. It’s all horseshit. I feel like I’m the only one in my family who actually cares about our people, and it’s infuriating that I am not even allowed to act upon it.”

A sad smile grew on his face as he watched Aryn’s chest heave with a frustrated sigh. “I could try to help with that. You have an asset that I’m certain no one else with nobility has: me. I know you, truly know you. Maybe you could work through me, to help my people.”

“Percy don’t be foolish. I know it’s a lost cause; the common folk despise my family. My father more specifically. They wouldn’t accept my help. It’s my family that put them where they are now,” Aryn grumbled, twisting a piece of his horse’s hair in his fingers.

“That’s why we have to show them that you’re different. If the common people can come to know you, I’m certain they would trust you and accept your help.”

“But how am I supposed to help? Even if I was able to gain their trust, my father will not give me the time of day–”

“He might if you show strength, if you stick up for yourself and what you believe. Now I don’t know the King very well, but I surmise that he looks down on you because of your gentle nature. To get him to listen to you, you have to play his game, Aryn. I know you don’t like it, but that’s how you’re going to get things done.”

The prince was silent for a moment, staring between his horse’s perked ears. “Okay. You’re right.”

Percy reached over and handed the prince the canteen.

“You’re stronger than you think you are, my love.”

Blue eyes connected with his, and a different kind of pink rose on the prince’s cheeks as he gingerly took the container from him, gloved hands touching.

Aryn dropped it accidentally as his horse suddenly stirred, ears anxiously twitching and rotating as it began knickering and backing up.

“Shh, hey… it’s okay. What is it, Dancer?” the prince murmured softly, rubbing the Arabian's neck in an attempt to calm the beast.

Now his own horse halted, standing stock still as its ears mimicked Dancer’s. The quiet rattle of branches sounded nearby, and everyone’s heads turned quickly. A strange dread started to make its way into his chest, the hairs on his arms and neck standing on edge, and some unconscious instinct told him to slowly unsling the crossbow from around his back. He wasn’t breathing as he strained to set the bolt, and his stomach clenched as a resounding clunk sounded from the weapon as it locked into place.

“We found something!”

Someone shouted up ahead. He and Aryn both turned their attention towards the hunting party as they had picked up speed. The baying of hounds rang out in the cold air as the dogs were released. Percy felt his shoulders drop from his ears as he finally breathed.

Aryn turned to him and let out a chuckle of relief. “Well that was–”

A monstrous squeal, almost like a guttural scream, pierced through the trees from their right as twigs and brush snapped underfoot. The horses stirred again, this time far more severely. His heart kicked up as emerald eyes scanned the treeline wildly, searching for movement.

‘Percy…” Aryn called out fearfully, glancing back and forth between him and where his eyes were scanning.

Too quickly to form a reaction, a hulking form came barreling out from the bushes, and his horse screamed and reared before bolting out from under him. His back hit the ground with a dense, harsh thud as suddenly his chest felt as if it had imploded. Air would not enter his lungs, and before he could attempt to catch his breath, a horrible pain shot through his left ankle.

He was whipped across the forest floor as his foot caught in the stirrup, barely managing to keep ahold of the crossbow. But his ankle twisted even more, and a shock of panic reverberated through him. Mind racing, he decided to release the weapon and strained to sit up, his back getting raked with all manner of twigs and small rocks. It was nearly impossible to focus through the pain. Deft hands fumbled with the stirrup, and with one last push of strength, he pulled himself up off the ground just enough to make the leather strap lax. His foot yanked free before he crashed back to the ground, tumbling and rolling. Something bashed against his lip; whether it was a rock or his own teeth, he wasn’t sure.

Finally his body came to a harsh stop. Gasping, he struggled to his hands and knees as the world swam. Everything sounded foggy, drowned out by the ringing that slowly crescendoed in his ears. He lifted his head in an attempt to ascertain his surroundings. Several yards ahead of him, he watched as a white and grey colored shape quickly grew smaller. He saw something else that looked like a dark blue puddle on the ground, beginning to stir. Something angular and brown lay in the snow a few yards away. Hounds bayed. Men shouted. He couldn’t tell what they were saying.

Branches snapped to his left, and he turned his head just fast enough to see a massive brown shape charging in his direction. He jumped to the side clumsily, but not fast enough to fully avoid the monster coming at him. His right arm was set on fire as tusks tore through flesh, and he screamed. Something warm and wet quickly spread across his skin, dripping onto his hand.

Suddenly the world became oddly clear, almost slow. The creature was turning around as hounds came sprinting towards it, right towards Aryn. His ankle cried with protest as he forced himself to his feet and threw himself towards the crossbow. Trembling hands grasped the weapon as he fell to his knee, his joint refusing to bear any more weight.

The boar shrieked and tore towards the prince, blinded by rage as several arrows stuck out of its hide. His breath rattled in his lungs as he struggled to lift the crossbow, arm screaming through every movement. But as the beast grew closer, the pain seemed to disappear. The world went quiet as he took aim, his hands steadied, and pulled the release.

The boar went scattering across the forest floor without a sound, but not without tumbling into Aryn. The puddle of dark blue now lay covered by brown and red, and he whimpered again as he tried to step on his ankle, practically falling the whole way towards him.

But a band of people arrived first, several jumping off their horses and getting their hands beneath the beast. They lifted and carelessly tossed the animal to the side, and now a circle of backs blocked his view from the prince.

“Aryn,” he called out hoarsely, spitting up dirt and blood from a busted lip. His voice was concerningly weak. “Aryn!”

If the prince had replied, he couldn’t hear it over the shouting and yelling of the rest of the men. So he pushed himself to his feet with the crossbow and attempted to limp the rest of the way. A horrible sense of dread and panic welled within his chest as he collapsed again, traveling no more than a few feet. All he could do was crawl.

“Everyone give him some space, now,” a familiar voice demanded over the hum of chaos.

The crowd parted to reveal Oliver pushing his way through, quickly kneeling beside the prince and tearing off his glove. He placed his fingers on the side of his neck beneath his chin before leaning in close, his ear by the prince’s mouth. The party went completely silent as the King galloped towards them on his horse, dismounting quickly.

“What in God’s name happened?” he shouted, storming over to where his son lay on the ground.

Oliver pulled the prince’s eyelids upward one at a time. “He’s okay, I think. The boar fell into him and must have knocked him unconscious.”

Philip now appeared beside his little brother, dirt on his face. “Aryn? Aryn you need to wake up.”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the two men attempted to stir the younger prince. A few painfully slow moments went by.

Aryn groaned and blinked heavily, sucking in a sharp breath as he tried to sit up.

“What hurts?” Oliver asked quickly.

“My ribs,” the prince stated through clenched teeth.

“Do you think you can stand?” Philip asked worriedly.

“I can try.”

With both arms supported, the prince managed to painstakingly get on his feet. Percy felt a sense of immense relief wash over him before his vision darkened slightly. He caught sight of Aryn’s face as the look of pain was wiped away to reveal sheer panic.

“Percy!” he heard him shout underwater.

He just barely saw Oliver mouth ‘oh fuck’ before everything went black.